


do you love him?

by toast (aone)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Harassment, M/M, the harassment is a very brief scene!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aone/pseuds/toast
Summary: “Are you happy?” a girl asks, possibly around your age. Taeyong has an arm wrapped around your shoulders while your hand is curled around his hip. You’re on your way to a movie premiere. “Does he make you happy?”“Yes.”It’s quiet, the way your voice comes out, but the crowd is so silent that it doesn’t matter.“Then that’s all we need to know!”





	do you love him?

**Author's Note:**

> request:
> 
> "can i get some of ur sweet sweet angst for either my king, lee taeyong, or the sunshine boy himself, donghyuk"

Taeyong peers at your reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator as the two of you rocket up to the upper floors. He studies the way the scattered, soft white lights above ignite your irises and sharpen your angles, making you seem more untouchable than you already are despite the fact that your fingers are laced with his.

It would be more romantic if it wasn’t a part of a contract.

_Ding._

The elevator opens and when you step out, Yaeyong feels like he’s leading himself on. You don’t let go of him, no, but the contact holds no warmth besides temperature. He follows anyway and he’s grateful that you’re so gentle when you slip your hand out of his in order to slide the keycard through the reader, and when you hold the door open for him instead of handing him his own card and pointing down the hall to show where he’ll be staying.

There’s a conference to be attended tomorrow, and a dozen other appointments to meet, but Taeyong watches as you strip down for comfort and slip underneath the sheets, facing the curtained windows and away from him.

You’re tired and Taeyong can respect that, so he settles into the armchair by the couch and unpockets his phone. He’s not sure what the protocol is when you’re passed out while he’s awake, but he’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat dinner.

—

_“Showing that you have a partner in the public eye will enhance your marketability,” they say, fingers steepled and pressed against their lips. They demand no argument. “Of course, there will be people who will express disappointment knowing that you’re not available, but in this case, it’ll strengthen their loyalty.”_

_You nod but Taeyong can tell that you’re not really listening. What the hell is wrong with them? Marketability? You’re a person, not a product._

_“This agreement will last for several months, no more, no less, if problems do not arise. I advise you to spend much time with… Lee Taeyong, is it?” He nods, not taking his eyes off of you. “Taeyong, and be sure to play it subtle. Nothing that’s too much, but don’t act distant either or else the public won’t believe you’re in a relationship._

_“They can only romanticize your aloof nature so much before they realize they’ve never had a chance.”_

—

Your lips are always so soft and mint-scented when Taeyong leans in close with the sound of camera shutters behind him. Your skin always so warm when he layers a hand on your cheek and tilts your head a bit to make the kiss more comfortable. You sigh whenever he pulls back and the expression on your face could easily be mistaken for love when Taeyong knows that it’s really relief.

The fans don’t know any better. They just believe that their beloved role model is being showered with endearments by a loving boyfriend.

_(“Are you happy?” a girl asks, possibly around your age. Taeyong has an arm wrapped around your shoulders while your hand is curled around his hip. You’re on your way to a movie premiere. “Does he make you happy?”_

_“Yes.”_

_It’s quiet, the way your voice comes out, but the crowd is so silent that it doesn’t matter._

_“Then that’s all we need to know!”)_

—

You’re laying down on a circular mattress with satin sheets while a photographer rounds you, taking pictures for a magazine spread Taeyong doesn’t remember the name of. He sits in a stool off to the side, observing as you’re told to move and stretch, smile and not smile, roll over and bring a hand up like something to be molded into perfection. He wants to take the camera and tell you that you’re already perfect and snap pictures as you turn beet red and flash a smile of humility.

_(“You really are gorgeous, though. Out of all of the people I could be fake dating, I’m glad it’s you.”_

_Huffing a laugh, you pull the sweater over your head and run a hand through your damp hair. “I’m flattered you think so.”_

_“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”_

_Taeyong meets your gaze head-on when you look at him, a question written on your face._

_“You’re physically attractive, yes, but you’re also… It’s subtle, but you’re also really kind. Gentle. Tender._

_He watches how your stare drifts and settles somewhere beyond Taeyong’s shoulder.)_

A welcome warmth in the air-conditioned room settles on the back of Taeyong’s neck and he looks up to see you smiling softly with a _"Let’s go"_ on your lips, eyes half-lidded and tired. There’s a bit of glitter twinkling along the edge of your cheek and above your brow, outlining your collarbones with constellations.

“You’re beautiful.”

Taeyong says it unexpectedly, no punches held back, and the hand on his skin twirling the ends of his hair, stills. Your cheeks flood with color under the dim lighting, setting Taeyong’s heart ablaze, and he prays that your touch won’t leave him.

“Thank you.” Your hand ghosts down his arm to take his, pulling him to his feet where he’s suddenly much closer. “Are you hungry…?”

_(You don’t release your hold on his hand until you reach the hotel to order room service_

_and Taeyong wants that to mean something.)_

—

“Tyong?”

The nickname escapes your lips and Taeyong is surprised. He looks up from his far side of the bed, laptop perched on top of his thighs. You’re lying on your stomach, head pillowed by your crossed arms, legs kicking like a child at a sleepover. Taeyong thinks this is the most at ease you’ve ever been that he’s seen.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any social media?”

A few accounts that he’s never really been active on. An abandoned Twitter that doesn’t even use his name. His occasionally looked-at Instagram that has gained thousands of followers overnight. The forbidden Facebook profile he’s contemplated deleting many, many times. He hasn’t been on them in a while, so it was never a problem when your management made him swear not to blemish your reputation via the internet.

“I do…”

“Do you have them downloaded onto your phone?”

“Yes?” Taeyong raises an eyebrow and you offer a hand, palm up.

“Can i see?”

He hands you his phone with more trust than he should probably give, but he’s got a good view of the device in your hands so there’s not much to worry about.

“What are you going to…”

You hold the phone up in order to take a picture of yourself before giving it back to him. It’s a bit grainy, the only light coming from the lamp on your nightstand and the television playing old movies. It captures your messy hair perfectly, and Taeyong can see himself as a blurry blob behind you. How fitting.

“You can post it if you want,” you say, turning your focus back to the TV. “There’s nothing damning about the photo, so management can’t throw a fit if you do.”

Taeyong doesn’t know if you’re waiting for a response but the silence stretches on for too long for him to feel comfortable enough to break it. He looks back down at the picture. Your smile is faint but there and genuine and Taeyong can’t possibly _know_ that it’s genuine, but he does.

He posts it on Instagram with no caption and there’s an influx of comments almost immediately.

You lay there, transfixed by the documentary you’ve switched the channel to, oblivious or uncaring, and Taeyong sets it as his wallpaper.

—

Your manager suggests that Taeyong spend the weekend at your apartment after you’ve been in Italy the last few days, business trip disguised as a brief vacation, and neither you nor Taeyong are in any place to brush the idea off. He’s spent so much time with you in the close confines of various hotel rooms and company car back seats, but the thought of him inhabiting a space you’re able to call your own is absolutely frightening.

It’s a venture into the unknown and Taeyong’s never been a vessel for heroic bravery, as mundane sleeping over at your apartment may sound, coming out of your manager’s mouth.

“I live alone so I only have the one bedroom,” you say, pointing to the door across from the living room. Taeyong has trouble ripping his attention away from the small but lovely patio near the dining area, but he manages and his curiosity is piqued by the pink flush of your cheeks. “I have a king bed though, so it’ll be like a hotel room. don’t worry.”

Oh.

“You don’t want me to sleep in the living room?”

Taeyong feels like he’s being pinned to the spot by your appalled stare.

“I might have the money to spend on plush sofas, but not even the best couch can compare to a good bed. I’m not going to subject you to a lifetime of back pain.”

Still blushing and disheartened from being assumed to be a bad host, you disappear into the bedroom and Taeyong sinks into the couch he was talking about, sheepish. He spends the next hour snooping through your kitchen and scrutinizing the lackluster contents of your pantry. He finds a tiny stash of chocolate chip cookie packs and devours one while you haven’t reemerged yet.

_(He takes a peek early into his second hour alone, careful of potentially squeaky door hinges, and finds you asleep at the foot of the bed, one leg dangling off of the edge. Taeyong thinks it’s cute but also not at all comfortable so he, against all of the alarms going off in his head, gently moves you so that you’re on the mattress completely, pillow underneath your head._

_You don’t stir and a minute passes before Taeyong realizes that listening to the sound of you breathing and watching your chest rise and fall to a calm rhythm is kinda creepy._

_He sneaks back out to the living room and watches an unfamiliar show at a low volume.)_

When you wake up in the late afternoon, pushing evening, Taeyong’s just finishing up a basic pot of macaroni and cheese on the stove. He offers a soft smile when you shut the door behind you, hair sticking up in all directions and face a little puffy, but he’s thinking that you’ve never looked better. The bags underneath your eyes aren’t as severe and your shoulders aren’t as tense.

“You cooked?”

Taeyong only shrugs and widens his smile in reply.

“Bon appetit?”

—

_(“Some people aren’t going to be welcoming of this ‘relationship.’ Ignoring them will be for the best, but always, always be wary.”)_

Taeyong sees them before you do, creeping through the adoring crowd with the eyes of a madman trained on you and nothing else. Taeyong’s got an arm strongly wrapped around your shoulder but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

And it isn’t.

Their hand shoots out to clamp on your arm and yanks, nearly pulling you out of Taeyong’s grasp entirely. Someone yells for help but it’s like the person has a steel grip and iron resolve because their nails start to dig into your skin. You gasp in pain while your attacker hisses something in your ear, and all Taeyong wants to do is punch them like the boyfriend he’s supposed to be, but security beats him to it.

They’re tackled and restrained while Taeyong, your manager, and bodyguards usher you into the waiting car, surrounding you in order to block most of the cameras and microphones being harshly pointed your way.

“Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

Taeyong’s voice is no higher than a whisper, barely audible over the sound of your livid manager making a call, and he leans down to look at your shadowed face. He brings his hand up to curl around the back of your neck, other hand reaching over to rub the welts peppered on your right arm.

“I’m fine.”

It comes out in a low rush and Taeyong pulls you to him, not mentioning it when a hand that’s not his grabs a fistful of his sweatshirt. He just holds you close and presses his lips into your hair. Your manager meets his eye over your head and Taeyong doesn’t care that this is a contract.

He wants you to be okay.

And he doesn’t need to be your boyfriend to want that.

—

“I’ve always wanted to open up a restaurant.”

Taeyong blinks, turning to you as he brings up a bite of lasagna to his mouth. He chews, waiting for an elaboration, but it doesn’t come as your focus drops back down to your plate of ravioli. He sets his fork aside and reaches for a glass of water.

“A restaurant?”

An easygoing smile spreads across your face and Taeyong lets himself drink it in like a good glass of champagne, only better.

“A small establishment in a relatively small town, maybe in a different country, where I’d have a cozy apartment on the second floor,” you say, eyes not leaving him. There’s an addictive passion beneath your calm timbre, and Taeyong is envisioning a hole-in-the-wall restaurant at the edge of a city.

“What would you serve?”

Your hand is inching across the table and Taeyong meets it halfway without a second thought, threading his fingers with yours. He squeezes your hand gently, urging you to talk about your dreams.

“All of my favorite foods,” you laugh a little, shy. “It’s a long list, and I probably can’t even cook a third of it.”

Taeyong leans in, glad that the table you’re sitting at is small lengthwise, and captures your lips in a kiss you’re not expecting. You taste like sun-dried tomatoes, portobello mushrooms, and white wine, and Taeyong grins when you laugh, incredulous.

“I can handle a third,” he says, picking his knife back up to resume dinner, “ _and_ I’m a quick learner.”

You don’t say anything to that and Taeyong peeks from behind his growing fringe, finding an enigmatic sparkle in your eye that complements the broad smile that appears moments later. He doesn’t expand on the statements and the two of you eat, bathed in a pleasant silence.

Your silverware and glasses of wine reflect a flash of light.

The paparazzi several tables over really aren’t subtle.

—

Sleeping over at your apartment gets easier.

He wakes up before you do, more often than not, with an arm slung over your waist and cheek to your collar. It’s a shock the first time it happened but Taeyong managed to slink away without waking you, busying himself with his bathroom routine and making breakfast while you slept the minutes away, clueless. This time though…

Your eyes are trained on him, index finger tucking strands of his hair behind his ear, when Taeyong blinks sleep away to welcome reality. You don’t seem surprised in the slightest and Taeyong wonders what it’s like to really _be_ with you.

“Sleep well?” you ask, not in any rush to slip out of bed and get the day started.

_(Let it start without us.)_

“Yeah…” Taeyong is very hesitant to let you go. “You?”

He knows sleep isn’t much of a good friend of yours.

You hum though, and Taeyong’s pretty sure that’s a yes.

“I’m ordering breakfast.”

“What? I can cook since I’m hungry too…”

Taeyong moves to get up and you curl your fingers around his elbow, soft eyes a reluctant betrayer of your emotions. He wants to drown in them.

“No, no… I like where we are.”

He wants to tell you that one of you is going to have to leave the room eventually to accept the food at the gate, just to tease you, but Taeyong settles for squishing his cheek against your chest instead. Your hand absently rubs his arm as if he’s your lifeline.

He likes where you are too.

—

_“I don’t think anyone thought it would go this far.”_

Taeyong stands stock still in front of your bedroom door, hand hovering over the handle. He lets his arm fall back to his side and listens.

_“I didn’t—I never saw myself… I knew, with my career, I’d probably have to do something like this eventually but…”_

Taeyong strains his ears and picks up on a sigh loud enough to slip through the door.

_“I didn’t expect to meet someone so_ good _.”_

Guilt washes through Taeyong. He’s listening in on a conversation that doesn’t include him, but a part him is trying to rationalize the idea of sticking around. It _is_ a conversation about him, so he deserves to know, right? Fuck. Taeyong feels like the soles of his feet are glued to the floor.

_“He’s nice, he’s understanding, he’s talented—Did you know he can cook and dance and sing and rap? He’s amazing.”_

You’re honest to god gushing about him and Taeyong feels each compliment like a hammer to his heart.

_“And he’s—he’s so beautiful, so wonderful, so benevolent that it hurts to look at him.”_

You’re handsome too, so handsome and breathtaking and soft-hearted and selfless, and Taeyong wants to tell you that every second of every hour.

_“I know you don’t need to hear this but someone has to hear it from me or else I’ll explode.”_

_(Couldn’t you tell me?)_

_“I like him a lot, maybe even more than like… It’s been a few months.”_

Taeyong wants to knock—wants to storm in with the purpose of a hurricane, but you’d be caught like a deer in the headlights with your heart open, ready to close up again, so he takes a step back and sits down on the couch.

He’ll wait.

—

Taeyong grumbles when something shakes him awake, but he registers the tiny giggle before his eyes can focus. His frustration washes away as fast as it came and Taeyong has to huff. The things you do to him.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, laughing when he rubs at the slight crick in his neck.

“What time is it?”

“Past five.” You sit down next to him, folding your hands and placing them respectfully in your lap. Taeyong wants to take them in his own and bring them to his lips. “I would’ve let you rest until I finished making dinner, but you looked like you were on your way to snapping your neck in your sleep.”

“My hero.”

You fiddle with the hole in the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Did you… Were you here when… when I was on the phone?”

Taeyong nods. He can’t lie to you, not when he would never want to.

You nod too, slowly, and the silence stretches for what feels like hours before you smile, brighter than Taeyong could have ever dreamed of. It’s brilliant but not blinding, soft but not weak, and Taeyong wants to capture this moment so he can relive it, over and over.

“Then… I don’t need to confess, do I? Since you already know.”

Taeyong blinks. Once, twice, three, four times for measure before bursting into laughter.

“Already know what?”

“Ah, Lee Taeyong, you’re laughing, I _know_ you know.”

He can’t help but lean forward into your space, grinning when your hands rise to frame his face, stopping him when he’s but a hair’s breadth away from kissing you senseless. His hands come up to caress your cheeks, touch feather-light like Taeyong’s afraid you’ll crack or disappear if he pushes too hard.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

The audience quiets as a microphone is handed to a little girl who came to the event with her mother, and Taeyong coos from a distance, fingers laced with yours underneath the table. He draws circles on your hand with a thumb and fights the urge to ghost his lips across your knuckles.

_“Do you love taeyong-oppa?”_

The people in the crowd laugh in adoration. Such a pure question from a girl no older than ten and Taeyong watches as you bring your own mic up to your lips, breathing a laugh into the speakers as you hide a grin behind your hand. Taeyong’s pretty sure the audience knows you’re smiling anyway, if the way your eyes are shining and crinkling at the corners is any indication.

_“Yes, i do.”_

You turn your head to look right at him and Taeyong is hypnotized by the wet shimmer in your gaze.

_“I love him so much.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i love lee taeyong, why did i ever stop biasing him


End file.
